When you look at this picture, what do you see?
Ever since I could have an opinion on my body, I felt ugly. At 5, I was dark and skinny with a boy cut, while other girls were fair, cute and not skinny, with beautiful long hair in braids or bangs. They wore frilly dresses and I wore practical, simple dresses or my brother’s hand me down shirts and shorts.
As soon as I hit puberty (at 10; thank you extra years of estrogen for increasing my risk of breast cancer ugh), I was the large one with fat at places I didn’t want so soon, while other girls were tiny, skinny and delicate. I was still ugly.
This photo is probably from when I was 14 or 15 years old, before I got my braces. I can’t remember which corner of my phone I found this in, but these past few days I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. (Narcissist much? No thank you, I don’t think so.) I can’t stop thinking about how I felt ugly all this while.
(By the way, it shouldn’t really matter how you look, but that’s another discussion to explore.)
But imagine this, there are only 6 other girls in your class. They all have boyfriends, except you. No one has ever shown any interest in you. All other girls are skinny, so skinny that at 5’1” and a mere 50 kilos, you’re the fattest of them. They have delicate, feminine bodies with tiny waists and you are athletic, with chiseled calf muscles and a permanent tan. No wonder you felt ugly.
Why did I keep comparing myself to others and losing my own light? Why did I waste years telling myself this ridiculous narrative?
This misfit weirdo was horrible at maths, sciences and anything that required memorising formulae, had turned into a below average student from a topper in just a couple of years, had doubts about her unconventional career interests, was ‘disrespectful’ towards the idea of religious rituals, talked back to her parents and teachers until things made logical sense, was cowardly rebellious, was tomboyish and was obviously not attractive enough.
I wish I could go back and tell that shy, confused teenager how awesome she was. I tell her you’re awesome. You sing so beautifully, you are creative and have so much passion for clothing and fashion, you draw so well, you have great hand writing, you are really good at language subjects, you are strong and athletic and can run faster than even many of the boys your age, you have your own independent point of view and you’re not afraid to question convention and authority, you understand the value of money and spend every tiny amount wisely, you excel at things that interest you, and you can grow into your highest potential. Instead, I saw only lack.
In your teens, your appearance matters to you, especially because your body is changing in uncomfortable ways, and society has set limiting standards of beauty and linked them to things like popularity and desirability and success.
It is only now, six years after going bald with chemo (slow learner?), six months after losing hair again on one side of my head from radiation, putting on weight, thinning hair and getting patchy skin (all temporary I guess), I see myself as beautiful, inside and outside, in this post-menopausal body. I deeply appreciate every part of this body that has loved me even after mistreating it with horrible food, bad routines, discouraging words and unkind thoughts all these years, it is now I can confidently say I look fine and I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m ugly. I’m cute and awesome and I love every inch of my body and it is beautiful.
With every little revelation I’m able to let go of the past and step into a future that has a little more confidence, a little more compassion and a little more love.